Remembering "The Mad Hungarian": former reliever Al Hrabosky: ex-fireman of the year used his on-field theatrics to gain an edge against opposing batters.

DICK RADATZ THRUST HIS ARMS above his head after striking out the heart of the Yankees' order and strode off the mound with giant steps, and The Monster was born. Tug McGraw, who has been battling a brain tumor but in better days sounded the rallying cry of "Ya Gotta Believe" for the Mets, used to slap his glove against his thigh after setting down a hitter.

Dennis Eckersley used to point at his strikeout victims, or windmill his fist in triumph. Ryne Duren didn't need any kind of blatant display to strike fear in the hearts of hitters. Just seeing Duren in those bottle-thick glasses, and knowing of his inability to direct his near-100 mph fastball anywhere near the plate on a consistent basis--he once hit a man in the on-deck circle--was enough to leave hitters unstrung. Dave Stewart, chief nemesis of Roger Clemens and the Red Sox, used to pull his cap down low, his hooded eyes fixed in a death stare. Angels closer Troy Percival, a calm and accommodating man off the field, also plays with perpetual anger, squinting at everyone in sight.

Raucous music heralded the arrival of Phillies reliever Mitch Williams ("Wild Thing") and continues to do so for Padres closer Trevor Hoffman ("Hell's Bells").

But for sheer theatrics, one reliever remains in a league of his own: Al Hrabosky, known as the "Mad Hungarian" when he pitched for the Cardinals, Royals, and Braves from 1970-82. With his Fu Manchu mustache, long hair, and a silver ring, the Gypsy Rose of Death ("I don't even remember the stupid story I made up for that, it was so far-fetched--probably a family heirloom from Dracula"), Hrabosky would turn every outing into performance art. He'd stomp off the mound toward second base, eyes blazing, the fury practically seeping through his uniform as he turned his back to the hitter who was left waiting at the plate until he was done working himself into an altered state he called his "controlled hate routine," then whirled around, pounding the ball into his glove while the home crowd generally went nuts.

Occasionally, so would an opposing batter, like Bill Madlock, who on one occasion waited until Hrabosky finished his ...